TEAR DOWN THE WALL! TEAR DOWN THE WALL!

Too many drugs and Pink Floyd and you find any random four words funny.

Monkey, it's time to come home. Your belief in God has nothing to do with it. During my long absence, when as I promised I followed in the footsteps of my ancestors into the desert to commune with the oil, I had a blinding vision of Heaven and the Floating World. After regaining my sight, I realized my companion had been struck down, crushed into a kind of green globule, a green stain on the sifting sands. It was an amazing experience. "Stumpy Joe" we called him.

Anyway, my vision tells me this: your belief in God will only serve as the devil's tool to mock you as you pass on to the next stage. Your body will be broken down into carbon, providing the nutrients for a small shrub to grow. And that shrub--that shrub will be peed on by Taylor Rain's own Bandit, and then snorted, smoked, and cooked up and injected by Scott Fayner as the DTs set upon him and the walls begin to close in. Nacho Vidal will crush your shrub as he rolls above your mortal remains with his trannies, or Budapest girls so damn ugly they might as well pack a Hungarian sausage in their boypanties.

This is what is written by The Hand that Signs, Monkey. It's either this or something like Soylent Green where you watch a movie and they kill you and turn you into food. I'm still figuring out the meaning.